


Prey

by CultOfAdoration



Category: Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Feeding, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Pain Kink, Sex, Vampires, sex in a morgue, thats it. where's it going? you be the judge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration
Summary: It's nothing personal, but you gotta do what you gotta do to make it in a world that doesn't care about you.
Relationships: mary goore/oc
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Prey

**Author's Note:**

> Ask prompt: Vampire Mary Goore that will pretend to be dead for a while just to sneak easily into morgues to have access to free blood and bodies (depending on lore some vampiric creatures consume flesh as well). It's kind of like taking a nap for a while and then waking up to a buffet. What he wasn't expecting was the very attractive mortician working weird hours when he thought everyone would be gone. Cue vampire Mary Goore having to make a choice between feeding on the hot mortician who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time or having some fun with them. Cue fucking on an autopsy table with feeding and light bloodplay. Both parties leave very satisfied.

Since he has no pulse, doesn’t breathe, and quite frankly looks like a day old cadaver even on his better days, they snatched his ass right up and shipped him off to the county coroner without any question. 

On waking up, he stretches, yawns, and walks over to the cooling unit built into the wall as if it were the refrigerator in any old kitchen. Also of note is the fact that, according to protocol, the body is typically stripped in preparation for processing, be it an autopsy, embalming, what have you. Not that Mary bothers (or cares) to hide his shame, even when the mortician comes back in with their mask and gloves right as he sinks his teeth into the oversized man-shaped juice box he just dragged off of it’s rack. Mary jerks back and spits all over the floor, not out of shock at the sight of them, but out of pure disgust. 

“Ugh, _fuck_! What is this shit?” 

Both he and the coroner look at the thin, reddish-pink fluid all over the tile. Then at each other. Then back down at the mess. 

“He’s… he’s been embalmed…” they stammer bluntly as if it should have been painfully obvious. Slowly, they begin to back up, hoping to reach the double doors. Maybe if they’re quick enough, they can bolt upstairs and into the office before– 

The body falls gracelessly from Mary’s arms with a thud, overriding the coroner’s flight response with the need to save their… _client _from such an undignified position. Mary makes no move to help, only watching in mild amusement, crooked smile gracing his features, as the coroner struggles with the weight of the body. They finally manage to set everything in its right place and immediately begins to fret over how they’re going to explain and cover those _horrible_ teeth marks. When Mary’s fingertips make gentle contact with the nape of their neck, they can’t exactly bring themself to pull away; the icy touch on their skin has an almost calming effect, soothing their panic almost immediately. What _does _give them pause, however, is the faint sound of Mary _sniffing_ them. 

Their head snaps to look at Mary, whose face is much, much closer than they were anticipating. Though the coroner steps back to put some distance between them, Mary doesn’t move; his gaze merely flicks up to meet theirs. What the fuck is this whackjob playing at? 

“Thought you’d smell like peppermint.”

He smiles.

…Wait.

“_Excuse me_?”

“I thought you guys had to put stuff under your nose to mask the smell of decay. Like in Silence of the Lambs. They used peppermint,” he trails off a bit, seemingly abandoning this train of thought in favor of stepping forward to close the newfound distance. The coroner’s skin flushes, a bit of nervous sweat beading on their brow. Even under more mundane circumstances, they never were all that great when it came to talking to someone so…

No. There’s absolutely no way this was happening. He was _dead_. They confirmed that themself the moment that body wound up on their table. 

“Glad you didn’t, though,” Mary whispers, almost inaudibly. He gently nuzzles into their neck, pushing the high collar of their lab coat aside with his nose. “_You smell so good_.”

They stammer for a moment while their mouth tries to catch up to their brain.

“Using something like peppermint would make the smell _worse_, actually, since it would open the nasal passages wider, you get used to the smell, really,” they mumble dismissively, slamming the drawer closed and pushing Mary back _again_ with a firm hand to his chest. 

His bare chest.

God damn it, he’s still naked. 

_Don’t look, don’t look, don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook– Fuck! _

They mentally curse themself for being so damned good at their job and wanting to get started as soon as possible. Should’ve just left him in those rags he came in with, though judging by how tight those jeans were, they wouldn’t have fared much better. Mary grins that same sly, sharktoothed grin and the coroner has to try very hard not to focus on how hot their face is and the fact that their heart is practically beating in double time, especially compared to Mary’s distinct lack of all of the above. 

Already sick of their cat and mouse waltz of backing away and closing in, Mary bars his arms on either side of the coroner, gripping the sides of the embalming table they’ve unknowingly cornered themself against. The coroner’s goggles are beginning to fog up. 

“I don’t even have a pulse, why don’t you help me figure out another way to get my blood flowing,” Mary says, barely able to restrain a shiteating grin. Their heart leaps in their chest at the upward intonation of Mary’s voice as he fights to hold down a laugh. The coroner finds themself chuckling as well, even though it honestly wasn’t all that funny to begin with. Pushing their goggles up onto their forehead and placing a gloved hand on the back of Mary’s neck is apparently all the go-ahead he needed to yank the surgical mask down, leaving it hanging around their neck in favor of claiming their lips in a harsh, toothy kiss. They don’t know what exactly it is that’s come over them, but they can’t complain. The thrill of it all sends shivers down their spine.

For how cold he is, it shockingly isn’t all that strange or unpleasant, as his tongue runs insistently across the seam of their lips, begging for entry. The coroner’s mouth falls open with a moan when Mary nips a little too hard at their bottom lip. It doesn’t take any convincing at all to get them up onto the table, Mary himself following soon after, with their legs around his waist and hands in his hair. They decide that wondering how exactly Mary managed to get hard enough for his cock to be felt against their thigh is unimportant for the time being, instead focusing on the slow, insistent grind of his hips and the way he just won’t stop going back to nuzzling at their throat. 

The lab coat is shucked off and left to fall behind the coroner on the table, with their shirt following shortly after while Mary gets to work on practically tearing his way through everything else. Arousal thrums through every inch of their body, drowning out all common sense and impulse control. They can always get new scrubs later.

Once the coroner is undressed and laid out carefully on the lab coat to protect against the chill of steel, Mary licks a long trail up the side of their neck, nibbling a little with his teeth as if trying to test just how thin that stubborn skin is. A firm grip on his jaw is just enough to pry his attention away from the blood thrumming just beneath the surface of their unmarred skin and get him to focus his gaze on the coroner themself. Fingers are unceremoniously shoved into his mouth; his sharp upper canine scrapes the back of their index finger and Mary moans loudly, eyes losing focus momentarily at the coppery taste. He recovers from his mild surprise rather quickly and sets to sucking on their fingers – though he’s probably missing the point of the act. Or purposely ignoring the task at hand entirely in favor of lapping at the wound. His cock twitches where it lay against the line of the coroner’s hip. They make a mental note to read some vampire lit sometime… you know, for research. 

“You’re a mess,” they say before they can stop themself. 

Mary pulls away from their fingers, a bit of red on his teeth, and sighs, never stopping his rutting. 

“_Because you’re teasing me._” 

His voice is rough, harsh, but not necessarily angry. If the way he’s grabbing and grinding them against him is anything to go by, they get the sinking feeling that they would _know_ if he was getting truly frustrated. The coroner can’t help but laugh, letting their head fall back onto the table, baring their throat to him as they sink their wet fingers inside of themself. Mary hisses through his teeth at the sight and dips down to run his tongue over their skin, enjoying how he can feel the way they gasp at his hands on them, pushing, rubbing, pulling, stroking. 

He still ruts against their hip for a few minutes, even after they deem their prep work “good enough”, and seems satisfied to keep at it until the coroner takes him in hand to guide his cock into them. Nails scratching against the surface, Mary plants his hand beside the coroner’s head to hold himself above them as he slowly pushes completely inside with a long, drawn out groan. Preferring to take care of themself, the coroner pushes one of Mary’s wandering hands aside, whining at the sensation combined with Mary filling them and thrusting shallowly. Tentatively, Mary puts his elongated canines to the soft skin, pushing past the resistance just until the flavor of copper blooms on their skin and on his tongue. It hurts, of course it fucking hurts, but the resulting endorphin rush and blood loss takes some of the edge off, and for some reason, they can’t seem to bring themself to care, not when Mary is fucking into them and moaning so prettily against their skin as he drinks. 

He pulls back to look them in the eye, pressing his palm to the wound on their neck; at first, they assume it’s to staunch the flow, but Mary quickly cuts off their premature questioning when he drags his bloodied hand down their chest and torso to join their own, still working between their legs. The bright crimson seems to encourage him, thrusting hard enough that his hips leave a resounding smack every time. Distantly, the coroner wonders about weight limits and how reliable the foot breaks are on standard issue embalming tables. Their thoughts are interrupted by Mary going back down for more, groaning when his lips close around the wound once again, his hand on them never once letting up or pausing.

“Ffffuck, I’m gonna– _nngh!_” 

It’s muffled against their neck, but even so, the coroner can hear how positively drunk he sounds, voice thick and slow. Never once does he stop licking at their neck. How much blood does a vampire need to feel full? Do they ever feel full? What about “turning”? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work? Their head is feeling a little light, which is only exacerbated by their rapid approach to orgasm thanks to Mary’s efforts to get them to finish before he does. The growing euphoria makes it difficult to speak, and their clumsy handwork leads to Mary grabbing both of their wrists to pin them above their head while he continues to take matters into his own. 

“Taste so _good_,” he whispers. “Feel fuckin’ amazing, too. I’ll have to come back and visit sometime, huh? Would you let me in?”

They nod, and Mary laughs, low and dangerous. He licks some blood from his lips, eyeing them down at the increasingly violent tremors in their thighs.

“Close? You gonna cum for me?” His hips slow to a lazy roll, grinding deep while he focuses most of his attention on them; the rest of his attention is devoted to the blood flow that’s now slowed to a trickle. A scarlet halo has fanned out behind their head on the previously pristine lab coat by the time their back and hips arch off the table as if trying to push themselves closer to Mary, a weak groan all they can muster after what he’s put them through. They turn to look at him, insistently trying to sit up and Mary gets the hint after a few seconds, kissing them again and letting them taste themself on him. (Actually, that’s not too bad of an idea… Mary makes a mental note to play around with that more in the future.) His voice is so quiet they’re barely sure they heard it over their own heavy breathing.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

Picking up in pace once again, he’s left sensitive and impatient after having been so close to his own orgasm. Fluorescent lighting overhead obscures most of him in shadow, leaving the coroner no choice but to pull him in close with both hands to his neck; his heart would have leapt in his chest had it still been beating when they gently direct him back to the bite on their throat. For a split second, he worries his desperation is showing when he gasps and whines at the display of, for lack of better word, submission and latches onto the now waning stream of blood. He’s so close, if he could just drink a little bit more, get a little bit deeper, move a little bit harder, surely that would be enough… 

The coroner moans and drags their nails down his back when Mary gets frustrated with how quickly the blood has clotted and stopped flowing. He makes moves to bite _again _and when they cry and whimper (”so good, do it, bite me, fucking bite me, _yes”_) so close to his ear like that, he almost feels like he has to. This time, he growls, low and feral, cum spilling deep inside of them when the coroner screams and clutches at his shoulders as his teeth puncture skin, sinking back in in one swift movement. The bite wasn’t intended for him to feed from, but he does so anyway as he rides out his orgasm and comes down from his high, unsure of when exactly his next meal would be. 

He only pulls away when he feels trembling hands pushing him off by his shoulders. The coroner looks tired, and pale; definitely not the same deathly pallor Mary’s currently sporting, but enough to warrant taking the rest of the day off to lie down. Pressing the sleeve of their lab coat to the puncture wounds on their neck, they start trying (and failing) to gather up the rest of their clothing and make themself halfway presentable. Mary watches and, once again, makes no move to help. He’s done this before. They’ll live. It’ll just hurt to swallow and turn their head for a while. Nothing to worry about.

Once the coroner has gotten redressed (minus lab coat, of course), they find themself at a loss for words. All they can offer is a measly approving comment, to which Mary grins. At least the guy seems amicable enough when he’s… sated, and they fall into some easy, not-entirely-awkward conversation and basic Q&A. Slowly but surely, their mind wanders back from wherever it disappeared to and they start being able to piece together all the wrong questions.

Where do you even go from this? Coffee? Do vampires like Starbucks? Can he even drink coffee? It’s still early. Would he be able to go outside? Is that a stereotype? _Are they being insensitive_? They weren’t prepared for this level of weird.

“You’re overthinking,” Mary says from where he’s still laid out on the embalming table, arms behind his head and ankle resting on his raised knee.

“How would you know?” 

Mary smiles, humming happily.

“Do you fuck all your customers like this?” He asks, dodging the question effortlessly, breaking out in a grin when the coroner has to steady themself on a worktable in shock. 

They sputter in disgust, pointing at him, thinking better of their comeback, and making for the double door leading out of the morgue. Just before they reach the exit, they turn on their heel and open their mouth as if to say something, once again cutting themself off and leaving for real. Mary hops off the table and follows. 

“Don’t you even _think _of coming up here like that! You stay there until I figure something out!” 

He pauses.

“Hey, where are my jeans?” He shouts up the stairs at their retreating back. He’s answered only by the slamming of a door.

Mary waits at the bottom of the stairs. 

He thinks about it for a moment, and then makes his way up to the office. 

“If they threw my boots away, I’m gonna be so fucking pissed.” 


End file.
